


You Know I Can't Love

by Yevie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward First Times, Emotional Constipation, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, First Time, Knife play in chapter 3, M/M, Mind the trigger warnings in chapter three's notes please, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Time Skip, Really unhappy sex, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-03 22:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yevie/pseuds/Yevie
Summary: In which Sylvain and Felix can't deal with emotions, so they have sex instead.





	1. Maybe I'm a Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad Person

**Author's Note:**

> Really, I just wanted to explore the fact that neither of these lads knows how to deal with emotions and also that they're both kind of jerks in their own special ways. Mostly this is a story about them coping poorly with the war. 
> 
> The title is from _Love Love Love_ by Monsters and Men, because that is the most Sylvain song I've ever heard.

Sylvain shouldn't be surprised to find Felix in the training yard long past midnight. The world's gone mad, a war's about to start and if anyone says they're sleeping well, they're lying. Looking back on it, Sylvain might have been seeking Felix out. Not that Sylvain has any interest in admitting it, even to himself.

Instead he states the obvious, "You're up late."

"What of it?" Felix says, returning to battering a training dummy that has more straw outside than inside. He's taken off his vest, and his shirt is soaked through with sweat. Most of his hair has escaped from the impossible bun he normally keeps it in. It's stunning, though Sylvain isn't quite sure what sense of the word he means by that.

What he is sure of, however, is that if Felix continues like this, he'll end up in as good a shape as the training dummy.

"You know, there're better ways to relax," Sylvain means to say this casually, but he's said this line one too many times, to one too many girls. So, when Felix whips around to face him once more, Sylvain is almost expecting to be punched. He holds up his hands in defense. The _whoa, hey, didn't mean it like that_ sits on his lips. When Felix only eyes him suspiciously, Sylvain hesitates.

It's not the first time he's thought about getting into Felix's pants, but usually those thoughts were idle fancies easily quashed by reminding himself that a good time was not worth ruining a lifelong friendship. Sure, Sylvain knows how to keep sex casual and strings free, but the only person Felix has even kissed is Ingrid, on a dare, when they'd been children.

But now, Sylvain's tempted. Maybe it's just that Sylvain feels more impulsive, or maybe it's the awareness that neither of them might survive the year or maybe it's that he's not sure he can spend the night alone, that he says, "You interested?" He waggles his brows suggestively and keeps his tone light. If Felix kicks up a fuss, it'd be easy enough to play this off as a joke.

Felix narrows his eyes further. "I'm not one of your girls."

Sylvain snorts. "Well - duh." He knows Felix is touchy about that, but Sylvain hadn't even been able to see Felix as a girl when he'd been expected to. That he'd had the same issue with Ingrid in their childhood maybe made him more of a piece of shit than a particularly prescient friend, but Sylvain prefers to keep his moments of self-loathing contained to his present-day failings. There are enough of those as is. "But I'm not sleeping and if you destroy another training dummy, Seteth might kill you before Edelgard has the chance."

Felix looks between Sylvain and the training dummy. He bites his lip, and after a moment says, "Fine," with the grim determination of someone preparing to get a tooth pulled.

"Well, that's not particularly romantic."

"Don't make me regret this, Gautier."

That's definitely not romantic or reassuring. Sylvain wonders if he ought to give Felix the _there's no pressure and just so you know, you can change your mind at any time_ talk, but quickly decides against it. That would definitely get him punched. Instead, he makes a few calculations. With Felix this wound up, attempting to get back to either of their rooms seems liable to end in some sort of dumb argument. A bath would be nice but suggesting to Felix that he might need one seems like another dead end. He supposes it's fitting Felix has his first time in the training yard. Where else would it be?

He crosses the threshold between then, and then slowly, so that Felix can see exactly what he's doing, lifts a hand to Felix's chin. "Since when have I ever made you regret anything," Sylvain says, knowing there're dozens of answers Felix could give. He doesn't let Felix give them, instead pressing a soft kiss to Felix's lips. Felix tenses and Sylvain doesn't press further. So, it's startling when Felix is the one pushing back.

There's the clumsiness that comes with inexperience - Felix clings to Sylvain's shirt and they almost butt heads as Felix attempts to deepen the kiss. But Sylvain knows how to work with inexperience and Felix is a quick study.

They end up with Sylvain pinned to a pillar and Felix attempting to devour Sylvain's neck. Sylvain gives it an A for enthusiasm, even if he's spending as much time wincing as enjoying the ride. Still, his pants are starting to feel too tight, especially with Felix's thigh pressed between his.

"Hey, uh, Felix," Sylvain says and is met with a flushed face and furrowed brows.

"What?" Felix says, sounding like he's ready to jump to the defensive at any moment.

But Sylvain already knows that dealing with Felix is like dealing with a particularly dangerous spell. He smiles an unconcerned smile. "I think we're wearing a bit too much."

Felix huffs and then wordlessly starts fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. His fingers are shaking, whether it's from over-eagerness or from nerves, Sylvain can't tell. Deciding to take over regardless, he mumbles a complaint about how their uniforms are too stupidly complicated. They've seen each other naked enough times that Sylvain could probably map Felix's numerous scars with his eyes closed. That might also be a sign Sylvain needs to keep his eyes to himself in the baths.

Then he sinks to his knees and makes quick work of Felix's belt. "I'm thinking of going down on you - that alright?"

"You don't need to ask." It'd sound biting if Felix's breath didn't catch on the last word.

Sylvain hums, pulling down his friend's pants, and along with them, his underwear. "It's good manners. Though, I suppose you haven't heard of those." That earns him a swat on the head. Undeterred Sylvain chuckles. "Also, you might want to lean against something."

"Just get on with it."

Well, it was worth a shot. He starts with Felix's thighs, finding soft sensitive spots among the hard muscle. Felix tastes saltier - more like sweat - than anyone Sylvain's ever been with before, but he can't say he minds. Especially not when Felix starts to make tiny, adorably quiet whimpers. Looking up, Sylvain sees Felix biting anything else down. Even butt naked in a public space, he's too proud to show he might be enjoying something. When Felix's hand finds its way to Sylvain's hair and tugs, Sylvain resists. "Use your words," he sing-songs.

"Higher," Felix growls.

Sylvain is nothing if not an obliging partner - his lips find Felix's clit. The hand in Sylvain's hair pulls tighter. It's the sort of sharp sting that Sylvain would mind from anyone else, but with Felix, even affection's going to hurt. Ignoring the discomfort, Sylvain continues slow and steady. He wants to take him apart, make him forget that stupid sense of pride for a moment, drop that mask that he glued to his face after Duscur. Then maybe Sylvain can drop his own.

Or maybe not. Definitely not. Because, this right here is about avoiding their problems. Sylvain speeds up, and before long Felix is crying out. His legs shake. Sylvain reaches a hand behind Felix to help keep him steady, but that doesn't stop Felix from sinking to his knees when he comes. He looks so pretty there, flushed and panting. It's the perfect picture, until Felix starts to wobble forward. So, Sylvain catches him in a loose embrace.

The last time he hugged Felix was before Glenn died.

And, Sylvain's not going to touch that thought. Instead, once Felix has caught his breath, Sylvain asks, "You good?"

Felix mumbles something into Sylvain's shoulder. "What was that?" Sylvain's perfectly ready to be a gentleman and help Felix get dressed before escorting him back to his room.

"You're still wearing clothes," Felix says, louder now.

Oh, well, that's pretty easy to fix. He chuckles. "You want to help me with that?"

He can't see Felix's face at the moment, but he's pretty sure Felix is rolling his eyes. Still, in that same impatient, clumsy way he kissed Sylvain, Felix makes quick work of Sylvain's shirt. He only stops to trace a hand along Sylvain's abdomen, his brows furrowed in an expression Sylvain can't quite read. It's tempting to ask, but Sylvain stops himself by pulling Felix into another kiss.

They tumble backwards, Felix straddling Sylvain's lap and Sylvain groaning as the sudden pressure reminds him just how uncomfortable his pants have gotten. Felix's eyes widen, before he smirks and grinds down onto Sylvain.

"Felix," Sylvain groans. "I like these pants."

Rolling his eyes, Felix gets Sylvain's belt off. Then his hand hovers. Of course, he'd get shy now. Rather than giving Felix instructions, because who knows how he'd take that, Sylvain gets his dick free and helps Felix's hand find it. From there the suggestion is clear. At first, it's only the bare brush of fingers.

"A little more there, buddy," Sylvain says, in his infinite patience. And then Felix grips him in earnest. It's too tight at times, awkwardly paced, but the look of concentration on Felix's red face does it for Sylvain. It's so stupidly like the expression Felix has when he's fighting an opponent he can't quite figure out how to beat, that it goes from ridiculous to attractive. Or maybe it's that Felix would be gorgeous with just about any expression. Doesn't matter. Sylvain's head falls back, heat pools and if anyone's passing by, they definitely hear him.

Sylvain stays there, eyes closed, heart racing until he feels Felix start to move. Then he cracks an eye open to watch Felix get to his feet and look around the training yard, lost. Well, they definitely can't just sleep here. Sylvain, especially does not want to sleep covered in dust, sweat and his own come. He forces himself up. "We should bathe," he says.

The lost look on Felix's face disappears into a glare. "No shit." So much for post-coital cuddling. Ah well, it's probably for the best. No sense getting affectionate when they'll be killing countless people in a senseless war soon. Sylvain is not at all disappointed.


	2. I Want You So Much but I Hate Your Guts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which no one is having a good time and Felix can't stop thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from _Landfill_ by Daughter.

Slumped against a pillar in the ruined chapel, Felix sits. He can hear the boar's howls, his restless pacing, but is unable to face him, not when their last interaction ended with the wrong name on the boar's lips. Felix can't even bring himself to feel true fury, all that's left is a cold, hollow ache. Stupid. Twice over now he's mourned Dimitri. Whatever monster wears his flesh isn't worth the grief. Still, even lacking an answer beyond foolish sentimentality as to why he's doing this, Felix keeps his vigil.

He expects the night to be uneventful but is proven wrong when there's a new pair of footsteps echoing in the room. Jerking to his feet, Felix draws his blade and points it towards the intruder. The intruder holds his hands up. "Whoa, Felix, it's just me."

Sylvain. Of all the people it could be, it had to be Sylvain. Even the professor would have been better. It's been almost half a decade since they'd last seen each other. Felix hadn't even heard from Sylvain after Dimitri's apparent execution. They'd barely spoken since that night in the training yard and after the war started in true, Sylvain vanished from Felix's life.

"What are you doing here?" Felix demands.

"Could ask you the same thing." Sylvain shrugs, looking to the boar and then back to Felix. "He's not going to disappear, you know. Guy that size would have a lot of trouble sneaking out."

"As if I don't know that."

Sylvain shrugs again. "So, then, you're planning to keep hanging around here because..."

Felix's fingers curl tighter around his blade. "I don't have to answer to you. If that's what you want, then leave."

"Didn't say that's what I wanted." Sylvain's gaze trails up and down Felix.

Cheeks heating, Felix is forced to turn away. Of course, Sylvain would seek him out for that. Sex would be the only thing on Sylvain's mind when their only hope of making it out of this war stands raving mad, speaking to imagined ghosts. If their army could afford the loss, Felix would run his sword through Sylvain. But as is, he only asks, "Can't you find anyone else?"

"I could," Sylvain agrees so easily that it makes Felix's stomach twist.

Their conversation is interrupted by the boar's proclamations of a bloodied head laid at Glenn's feet. Felix feels colder than ever.

"Come on Felix, let's just get out of here." Any protests Felix wants to make die when Sylvain adds, "Please?"

They end up on Sylvain's bed, a bottle of wine split between them. It's frustratingly familiar. Felix had barely been thirteen when Sylvain, in all his worldly, fifteen-year-old glory had snuck a bottle of wine and convinced, Felix, Dimitri, and, after numerous protests, Ingrid, to try some with him. In the morning, after a maid found them, they'd all received a scolding. But, that night, full of laughter, had been one of the best nights of Felix's life. He hates recalling it now.

They've drunken enough wine that Felix has forgotten that he wants to remain furious at Sylvain, but far from enough for Felix to forget the boar's senseless cries. He's not sure any amount of alcohol could carve that from his memory. Taking the bottle, Felix gulps down another swig. From the corner of his eye he watches Sylvain - casually sprawled out, back against the wall, chin tilted up towards the ceiling. Everything about him reads at ease and yet Felix can't help but feel that if they were to be attacked in this moment, Sylvain would need no time to spring into alertness. Ridiculous. Felix takes another gulp of wine before asking, "Did you invite me here just to drink?"

"Nope," Sylvain says unconcerned and unmoving.

"Then what for?" Felix demands, despite knowing the answer.

Brows raised, Sylvain turns to him, a slow, easy grin spreading on his face. It's not quite mockery, but Felix wishes to beat it out of Sylvain anyhow. He grabs Sylvain by the shirt and pulls him forward. Then, he smashes their lips together. It's not what either of them expected. Sylvain squeaks in shock. Felix freezes in place.

In the silence all there is, is the sound of their breathing and Felix's own heart beating too fast. They're in the middle of a war, the boar is doing who knows what, their old teacher has materialized out of nowhere and yet this is what Felix is choosing to waste his time on? Yes, apparently. Sylvain puts his hands on Felix's hips and then instinct takes over. Felix bites and nips his way through the kiss and is rewarded with Sylvain's moans. He straddles his once-best-friend's lap and feels a hardness pressing into his ass.

When the kiss breaks, Felix presses a hand to Sylvain's chest and pushes him down onto the bed. Sylvain gazes up at him with hooded eyes and a lazy smile on his swollen lips, but Felix can feel Sylvain's heart racing underneath his fingertips, as erratic and fast as his own. It's unsurprising that the face Sylvain shows is not his true one - even when they were children, Sylvain would laugh off any bruise Miklan left him by claiming that it'd simply been a fall. But, back then, Felix could read beneath that. Now, as he gazes down, he's not sure he understands this version of Sylvain at all.

"This what you want?" Felix asks.

"Honestly, I could do with a little more action," Sylvain says and it's a challenge. Bastard. He's giving Felix control, the only thing Felix ever wants, and Felix has no idea what to do with it. But, backing down isn't an option.

Scooting back, Felix gives Sylvain room to sit up again. "Get up," Felix says and Sylvain does. "And get your shirt off," he adds before shrugging off his own. They've already gotten rid of their outer layers, so it doesn't take long to take off the rest.

It's Sylvain who tugs Felix back into his lap. Sylvain's hand strokes down Felix's back, and a tension Felix didn't realize was there releases. Closing his eyes, Felix wants to relax into it, to curl up in Sylvain's arms and stay there forgetting the outside world. Except, if he did that, he wouldn't be able to face Sylvain come morning.

So, he does what he always does and turns this into a battle. He trails open mouthed kisses down Sylvain's neck until he finds a particularly soft spot and then he bites down. "Fuck," Sylvain gasps, but Felix can feel Sylvain's dick twitch. With an almost morbid curiosity, he bites down harder. "Felix," Sylvain whines. The hand on Felix's back has stilled, and the all too soft feelings are replaced with something sharper, hungrier. He wants to push Sylvain to the edge, to rip the chasm between them so wide that they both fall through and can never climb back out. Felix finds more soft spots, leaves more marks and Sylvain keens and begs.

When Felix pulls back, to catch his breath, to observe his handiwork, he sees Sylvain's pupils blown wide and that stupid, unreadable smirk gone. For once there's something almost vulnerable to Sylvain, an edge of desperation that makes Felix's gut twist. "That what you wanted?" Felix asks, his voice coming out rough and breathless.

Sylvain laughs, "Something like that. You got more?"

Felix huffs, eyes trailing over the red marks along Sylvain's neck and chest. His fingers twitch, itching to dig into them, to make them bleed, to make Sylvain hurt so much he has no choice but to be honest for once. It's a terrifying impulse, crueler than Felix ever imagined himself to be. He looks to the side. "What, am I here to entertain you?" He aims for imperious, demanding, anything to cover up the fact that he feels like he's on the edge of a ledge he hadn't been able to see moments ago.

"Whoa, hey, no," Sylvain says. Gentle fingers brush along Felix's cheek, turning his face back to Sylvain. Their eyes meet. Felix forces himself not to look away. Sylvain smiles, wry. "Just thought we could have a little fun." His fingers slip underneath Felix's chin and Sylvain pulls Felix into a kiss, soft and chaste, brief. Then Sylvain breaks it and rests his forehead against Felix's.

"I hate you," Felix says, lips trembling.

Sylvain winces. "Ouch," he says, unreadable smile returning to his face. "Don't know what I did to deserve that."

_You left me alone_, Felix thinks and refuses to say. It's not like he needed Sylvain anyhow. He's always been better off alone. Relying on others too much, caring too much is what left Dimitri so damn caught up in ghosts. Felix is better than that. "Doesn't matter anymore."

"Guess not."

He should probably leave. This whole thing is a mistake. But Felix finds himself reluctant to move. So, he asks Sylvain, "You just going to sit there?"

"Pushy, pushy," Sylvain says, slipping a hand between them, brushing along Felix's cunt. Felix inhales. "I was planning on asking if you'd let me fuck you," Sylvain says, teasing along Felix's entrance. Felix's mouth feels dry. "Or maybe if you'd want to fuck me - we could get creative." Sylvain's fingers slide up, barely touching. "But seems a little weird now, since you hate me and all."

"Don't be an idiot." He grinds down onto Sylvain's fingers, it's not enough. Shit. He really should just leave, they'd be better off not doing this, they'd be better off if the past decade disappeared, if they could go back. "You don't need to ask."

Sylvain looks skeptical, but Felix crashes their lips into another kiss before Sylvain can even dare trying to act concerned or sympathetic or whatever other idiotic thing he thinks Felix needs. They'll regret this, but Felix is beyond caring. At least pregnancy isn't a problem - the magic that lets him look in the mirror without flinching has that side benefit.

Sylvain works Felix open with his fingers. It's slow, gentle, and leaves Felix gasping for more. He's still able to think and that's a problem. "Just get on with it." For a moment it looks like Sylvain wants to say something, but then he shakes his head.

When Sylvain is inside, it's all too much. Unfamiliar, too full, too stretched and yet Felix's thoughts can't drift anywhere else so it's the best he's felt all night. There's Sylvain's hands on his hips, steading him, but Felix is the one on top and thus the one to set the pace. He starts to move as soon as stray thoughts start creeping through his mind's pleasant blankness.

There's the background chorus of Sylvain's too sweet encouragements, and there's the heat and the breathlessness. Felix loses himself in sensation, loses track of the moment until suddenly time is all too slow and he's on the edge of something, too close. He tries to speed up, slow down, catch that elusive edge. It's just out of reach, until it isn't. When he topples over, it shakes through him. His vision goes dark.

He comes to sometime later, probably only moments. Sylvain's slid out of him, there's a sticky mess between them, and Felix's head is pillowed on Sylvain's chest. It's hard to decide if it's disgusting or just disgustingly comfortable, so Felix doesn't decide. He lets himself breathe. At some point, Sylvain's fingers card through his hair, soothing him further. It'd be so easy to just fall asleep here. So nice.

Except. Except, no. No, this is Sylvain's bed. Felix cannot stay in Sylvain's bed. He props himself up on his elbow, still feeling the edge of lethargy. But he's determined to leave, ready to, but then Sylvain's arm snakes around his waist. "Hey, where you off to?"

"I'm not staying."

There's a sigh before Sylvain's arm slides away. "No, of course not." Felix tries not to be disappointed by the absence. He bites his lip to keep from saying anything stupid and gets himself cleaned up enough to leave. There's a lot to regret this night, but he refuses to regret leaving. He refuses to regret not looking back on his way out.


	3. Make Me Feel like I Am Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they Sylvain just wants to feel something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Suicidal ideation, knife play, misuse of kink as coping, iffy kink practices in general**
> 
> Chapter title from _A Little Death_ by the Neighborhood.
> 
> This chapter fought me the whole way through, though some nice folks on the Sylvix Discord helped me beta the first half enough for me to finish it. Also, please do mind the triggers.

They've fallen into a routine, but tonight is something new. Sylvain's wrists are bound to the headboard of his bed. He's done this before, that one time he'd hooked up with Dorothea. Is she even still alive? Last he saw her was before Edelgard declared war and then she'd vanished. Part of Sylvain hopes she is. Part of him hopes she's dead, because that means he never has to risk fighting her. It's a little fucked up, but then so is everything else about war.

The press of cool metal to Sylvain's cheek snaps Sylvain back. "Pay attention," Felix demands. He has a dagger on him - it's ceremonial, pretty and glittering in the low light of the room. Only the flat of it has touched any part of Sylvain so far. There's a look of wary uncertainty in Felix's eyes as he tilts it so the edge rests against Sylvain. It's almost funny how cautious he's being when they're still covered in bruises from their earlier spar.

_It'd started familiarly with them circling each other, looking for openings. But then Felix made the first move, and he was faster than Sylvain expected. Sylvain barely dodged out of the way of the first blow, barely blocked the second. There was a glint in Felix's eyes, something too sharp, like he was facing down an enemy and not a friend. It struck like lightning through Sylvain, and then he was moving faster, hitting harder, not holding back._

_The fight didn't end when Sylvain's lance collided with Felix's shoulder, nor did it end when Felix's sword slammed into Sylvain's side. It should have. If the professor had been there, they'd have called an end to it. But something snapped between Sylvain and Felix and they couldn't seem to stop. Felix might have landed more blows, but Sylvain had always had better endurance. It was almost even. Almost._

_But eventually the obvious became clear - Felix was the better fighter. He pushed Sylvain back, until Sylvain was against the wall and Felix's dull training blade was at Sylvain's throat. They stared at each other, breathless. It was so close to the last nightmare Sylvain had that Sylvain tilted his chin up, baring more of his throat to Felix. "Too bad that's not a little sharper," slipped out of Sylvain's mouth. _

_Felix's eyes widened. Sylvain closed his eyes. With_ _every battle he lived through and every body he left behind, Sylvain found survival more and more exhausting. Not that he needed anyone knowing that. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to kill me. Just seems like some risk would be fun.”_

_The blade dropped from his throat, and when Sylvain opened his eyes, he saw that Felix had stepped back. Sylvain should've apologized. "What, you never wanted to see me bleed?" He said instead._

The dagger's edge doesn't hurt, it barely even brushes against Sylvain's cheek as Felix slides it down to Sylvain's neck. One wrong move and this could be tragic. Sylvain's heart beats rabbit fast as he waits for Felix to decide what he wants to do with him. There's a lot Felix could do, and little Sylvain could do to stop him. Which is exactly what Sylvain wants.

But he doesn't expect the soft brush of fingers against his cheek. They're barely there and yet almost burn. There's a look of indecipherable concentration in Felix's eyes as he traces down Sylvain's nose, as his thumb glides over Sylvain's lower lip. Sylvain swallows, feeling the press of blade become momentarily sharper - not enough to break skin, but there anyhow.

He and Felix have been fucking for weeks and yet this is the softest Felix has been with him. Any affection Sylvain normally gives is met with aggression. Which is okay. He's not looking for a lover in Felix. It'd be stupid to even consider that an option when Felix's only love is the thrill of a fight. So, this right here? It twists Sylvain's gut and makes heat run all the way down through him.

"Fe?" The old nickname falls out before Sylvain can think to stop himself.

"Yeah?" Felix responds - it's almost soft.

Sylvain wants to laugh but bites it down. There is still a blade there so sudden movement isn't smart. Really if he'd known all it took to calm Felix down was to let Felix put a knife on him, then Sylvain would have tried it ages ago. "Just think you look beautiful up there, is all." Which is true. Felix has his hair down, and it spills over his shoulders like a dark curtain. There's the golden sparkle of his eyes and well, Sylvain could go on, but then he might dwell on it later and then Sylvain would really be in trouble.

"You talk too much." Felix says.

Sylvain would retort, but then the blade glides down further, over his chest and settles neatly over a wound that's just barely healed. The flesh there is still sensitive. Sylvain inhales. This one had him bedridden for days, a poisoned arrow, but he'd gotten off pretty lightly all things considered. There were many who hadn't made it out of Ailell at all.

_The flames had burned around him. Smoke rose up and with every breath it felt like Sylvain's lungs filled with ash. Those who fell were slowly consumed by flames. So, this was how humans smelled when cooked. If there were any scavengers in the area, they'd have a good dinner tonight._

_The body at his feet had a familiar face. He remembered this soldier, not from the monastery, but from a visit long before that. Gwendal and his men had come to his father's aid once. It'd been some mess with Sreng. Sylvain mostly remembered the way this man, Alain, had kissed him. Now Alain was dead. Sylvain wanted to care, really wanted to feel more than hollow recognition. But, he couldn't._

_Then, there was pain, searing, right between his ribs. Sylvain looked down and saw an arrow. He looked up and an archer was drawing his bow. Frozen, Sylvain stood there. He was better trained than this, but his training had abandoned him. It was Felix who cut the archer down, yelling at Sylvain to stop being an idiot as he did so._

There are one, two, three strokes of the knife along Sylvain's stomach, each with more pressure than the last. The third draws a gasp from Sylvain. It's barely a scratch and yet Sylvain's pulse thrums. Felix trails a finger down the thin red line he's left behind. Then there's the blade again, this time along Sylvain's side. It's a few gentle brushes and then a sharp sting. And again, on Sylvain's other side, again on Sylvain's thighs, and then again. It's a tease, not quite enough, though Sylvain isn't sure what exactly would be enough. He's not sure it'd be enough if Felix took that blade and dug it in so deep that Sylvain bled out. Now that mess would be a bit unfair to ask Felix to clean up.

But despite it all, Sylvain does begin to reach the edge of something. His breathing grows shallow and his cock drips with precum. "Fuck," he breathes out. It's then that Felix pauses, for only a moment, before the blade digs into Sylvain's thigh, deeper than before, just enough to break skin. Sylvain's breath catches. He whines.

"This really turns you on, huh," Felix says, fingers ghosting over Sylvain's dick.

Sylvain chokes out a laugh. It surprises him as much as it does Felix. Before the war, all Sylvain had wanted frosm sex was to feel good. Now, he just wants to feel something. "Kind of, yeah."

Exhaling, Felix brushes a strand of Sylvain's hair from his forehead before pressing a kiss there. It's soft and gentle in a way that makes Sylvain's eyes feel wet. Something's stuck in Sylvain's throat. He swallows it down. But thankfully, before Sylvain can get anymore muddleheaded, there's another press of blade, another faintly bleeding cut. The tears do spill out then, but he's back in the moment, watching as Felix sits back to examine his blade.

He taps the flat of it to Sylvain, before leaving one last final cut, the deepest of them yet and then sets the knife down on the tabletop. Any protests Sylvain has die when Felix shoots him a glare. They'd agreed - if either of them says enough, it's enough. Still, Sylvain is painfully hard, whimpering. It must look a little pathetic, but since when has Sylvain cared about dignity?

He expects mockery from Felix. A barb, maybe. Something cruel to mark an end to this little experiment. Except, that doesn't come. Instead there're cool fingers, laced with healing magic, that run their way down Sylvain. The edge of softness hasn't left Felix's face, and Sylvain feels more desperate than ever. "Felix," he pleads, if only to stop his thoughts from landing on the one thing he's always avoided admitting to himself.

"Is patience too much for you?"

"Come on, you know the answer to that."

Felix rolls his eyes, before taking Sylvain's dick in hand and giving it a few swift pumps. It's perfunctory, but it doesn't take Sylvain long to come anyhow.

When Sylvain comes to again, bleary eyed, Felix is cleaning him up, wiping off what remains of the blood and come. He unwraps Sylvain's wrists and haphazardly folds up the scarf that they'd been using, before setting it on Sylvain's table. Standing, Felix picks up his jacket. He had only taken off his outer layers before they started.

Sylvain's arm feels heavy and numb when he tries to lift it up to reach out. "Hey, where you going?"

Felix looks back at him with narrowed eyes. He never stays. Any time Sylvain's even hinted at asking, he's been rebuffed.

"You haven't gotten off," Sylvain points out.

"Did I say I wanted to?"

Despite feeling like his bones might as well be pudding, Sylvain sits up. It would be best to just let Felix leave. "You could stay," he says.

Now Felix is glaring - Sylvain's broken that unspoken rule of theirs. Sylvain falls back, sighing. "You could," he says like some petulant child. But he's prepared for Felix to storm out. Except, there's no door slamming, there's no movement, there's just that wary look on Felix's face again.

And then he does what Sylvain didn't expect and sits back down on the bed. "Shove over," Felix says, so Sylvain does.


	4. Tell Me, We Both Matter, Don't We?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which feelings are finally discussed and no sex is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Running Up That Hill_ by Kate Bush, though for soundtrack purposes use the Placebo cover. 
> 
> Thank you so much for anyone who stuck with me through the end of this angst fest. Also thank you to @golden_whisky on Ao3 for betaing and helping me figure out the ending! The last few lines are all theirs.

Felix's father is dead, and it changes nothing. Yes, Dimitri has regained himself, but the war still rages on, the pile of bodies grows, and the eyes of the Blue Lions become ever more haunted. They must win and survive, Felix knows this. And yet, as he stares at his father's grave, Felix wonders if there'll be anything worth coming back to after it all. What a foolish thought - survival is all that matters. Dwelling on what's lost helps no one. So, why does Felix keep dwelling?

It's the rain that snaps Felix out of his thoughts - small drops turning into a downpour in an instant. Cussing under his breath, Felix runs back to the monastery. He falls against a wall, eyes prickling. Crying is pointless, pathetic, yet Felix can't fight the growing tightness in his chest or the aching, heavy hollowness that overwhelms him every time he remembers that he will never see his father's face again. How fucking foolish. He doesn't - didn't even like the man. Tears spill out, and Felix furiously wipes them away. There are footsteps and quiet voices, too nearby for Felix to even dare showing weakness. Forcing himself off the wall, he ambles his way upstairs. He means to go to his room, but he's been sleeping in Sylvain's room so regularly these days that in a haze Felix ends up there instead.

"Felix?" Sylvain asks, sitting up in his bed.

Looking up, Felix sees the furrow in Sylvain's brows and the stream of inane commentary ready to fall from Sylvain's lips. Rather than leave, Felix strides over and covers Sylvain's mouth with his own. It's sloppy - mostly teeth. Felix's hands, like claws, dig into Sylvain's shoulders. Sylvain is stiff and motionless beneath him. When the kiss breaks, Felix does his best not to shatter. "Don't say a fucking word," he says, staring at the empty wall over Sylvain's shoulder. Felix is still clinging, somehow unable to process moving. He wants to shove Sylvain down, to play that game where he takes Sylvain apart until there's nothing but naked honesty left, he wants Sylvain to return the favor and make Felix be vulnerable for once and he wants to curl onto the floor and cry as if he were still the little boy who needed his friends to comfort him.

It's only when Sylvain' starts smoothing a hand down Felix's back does Felix crumble. His head falls onto Sylvain's chest and his knees buckle under him. There's a soft thud when he hits the floor. Distantly he notes the pain in his knees. More distantly, he notes that Sylvain has curled around him like a shield, like he used to do when Felix came crying about something stupid like a scraped knee. Back then, Sylvain would kiss it better. Funny how some things stay the same.

Felix doesn't know if he'd been crying before, but he's sobbing now. All the ugly feelings spill out as rasps and screams and gasps. It's everything he's lost and everything he's never had. It's that Glenn died, and that Felix could never be the one to fill his shoes, that his father looked at him and seemed to wish he'd rather be seeing a ghost, that his father would rather die for Dimitri than live for Felix. It's that the world might be better off because of that.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh, it's all right," Sylvain has been saying for a while now, but finally Felix's cries have calmed enough to hear it. Swallowing one final sob, Felix blinks up at Sylvain. Sylvain who has been watching him break down for Goddess knows how long and fuck. Fuck. Felix feels like he's a rabbit and Sylvain's arms a trap. He's been caught at his weakest, and now, now, now--

"Fe?" Sylvain says. He's been using that stupid nickname more often now, but normally Felix has him pinned first.

"You saw nothing." Felix's voice is raw. The request is pointless.

There's a small frown curling on Sylvain's face. Still, he nods. "Alright. There was nothing to see."

Felix stands, shoving Sylvain's arms off of himself. Inhaling, he turns to leave, but before he can even take a step forward, Sylvain grabs his wrist. "Felix--"

"Don't fucking start," Felix says, not turning to face Sylvain.

"Come on, I just... I want to help, you know?"

"No. How're you going to help? Fucking you isn't going to fix shit," Felix hisses. Perhaps Felix is being cruel, but that's the truth of their affair. A good fuck isn't any more effective than kissing a scraped knee.

"Wow," Sylvain says, but he doesn't drop Felix's wrist. "I didn't know that was all our friendship was to you."

"Well, now you know." Felix yanks his wrist away.

"Felix," Sylvain repeats.

"What?" Glaring, Felix whirls around.

Sylvain's lips are pinched together, and his eyes are narrowed. It's the least put together Felix has seen him while fully clothed. Sylvain meets Felix's eyes and then almost instantly breaks eye contact. "Just, please, stay." Felix hates that request. Felix hates that Sylvain has started asking after they fuck and hates even more that he asks now. Before, it was easy to think that Felix didn't matter to Sylvain any more than he mattered to anyone else. He was convinced that his friendship with Sylvain was another casualty of war, that what they had left was a grotesque simulacrum of their childhood affection. And it didn't matter, because Felix knew how to be alone, understood how to make himself cold to the world, was a weapon, honed and sharpened for only survival. Now, Sylvain makes him want to be something else. That isn't fucking fair.

He takes one breath, slow and deep, tries to center himself in this tidal wave of feeling he's been caught up in, but finds it impossible to stop reeling. So he crashes down onto the bed next to Sylvain and lets his head fall into his hands. Sylvain's arm makes its way around Felix's shoulders, pulling Felix tightly to Sylvain's side. For the moment, there's only the sound of their breathing and the drumming of rain against the window. In the stillness, Felix's eyes begin to drift closed - he fights it, as he fights everything else, but eventually his eyelids are too heavy. He falls asleep.

* * *

When he wakes, his head throbs. A gentle hand is running through his hair. It's a combination that makes moving impossible. He lies there as he remembers whose lap his head is pillowed on and just why his eyes ache. There's the phantom of humiliation, but even after sleep, Felix is too wrung dry to give a damn. "Why?" Is all he can manage to say, voice cracking.

Sylvain's hand stops moving, then starts again. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."

Felix huffs. "Why... All of it. Everything. Why?" He doesn't know how to be more articulate than that.

There's no immediate answer, only Sylvain humming tunelessly. But before Felix can grow impatient enough to make demands, Sylvain says, "because you're the only person I know how to be honest with." He sighs and then adds, "Sometimes."

"You're shit at honesty," Felix grumbles.

"Well, yeah." Sylvain laughs. "You know I'm a coward, and a lout and all the other creative terms Ingrid has come up for me over the years. But--"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't tell me I'm _special_."

"I've used that one too often, haven't I?" He tucks a strand of Felix's hair behind his ear. "You are though. Even you can't be so dense that you can't see how I..." Sylvain exhales, "I feel about you." Then he laughs again. It's laced with bitterness. "And, look, Fe, I know, you don't have to say it. It's fine."

It isn't fucking fair how Sylvain makes Felix wish he were something else. But Felix is Felix, and he can't apologize for that. "We're at war."

"Fucked up, right? But there must be some saying about how war brings out the truth in us or some shit like that - Ashe probably has a book about it." Felix can feel Sylvain shrug. "Still, it's a reason not to just lay down and die."

Felix startles. "You wouldn't dare."

Sylvain's hand stills, and then, after too long a pause, brushes over Felix's cheek. "And break our promise? Nah. It's just another reason and all that. Or I guess, the same reason?"

They can't continue having this conversation with Felix only able to see Sylvain's thighs. He untangles himself and sits up, not caring how stiff his body feels. Gripping Sylvain's chin, he forces their eyes to meet. The eye contact, as always, makes Felix want to squirm, but he needs Sylvain to understand this. "You die and I will find a way to murder your ghost."

There's even more laughter as Sylvain wheezes out, "I love you."

Felix's entire face heats up. Somehow, those three words are more intimate than anything else between them. Still, if Felix could say them back, he would. But all he's got is, "Then survive this fucking war." Because Felix needs something worth living through this war as well. He needs someone to make him still want to be a person after it all.

When Sylvain stops laughing, he nods. "Alright, Felix. Promise. We'll both live through this."

Felix's father is dead, but Felix isn't. And neither is Sylvain.

They're alive. They're alive.


End file.
